


Demimonde

by gnostic_heretic



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: (characterS fight me on this lmao), (for lietpol), (for rombela), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Demonic Possession, Established Relationship, F/M, Gothic, M/M, Multi, Occult, Penny Dreadful inspired AU, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, Trans Male Character, Victorian Science Fiction, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 16:42:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15077375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnostic_heretic/pseuds/gnostic_heretic
Summary: London, 1889. An odd team of paranormal investigators, a witch and a sharp-shooter, gets involved in the mysteries of the night, as they try to find a missing girl. But in the shadows nothing is as it seems, and vampires and monsters might be more human than expected.[Penny Dreadful inspired AU]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, thank you for checking out my latest 100% self indulgent passion project! You certainly (more like... hopefully) do not need to have watched Penny Dreadful to enjoy this, but if you have not yet and enjoy gothic victorian fiction, I would recommend you to check out this amazing show!  
> To put it shortly, the premise of the show is that different tropes and characters from Victorian gothic and horror literature are mashed together in one setting, in the context of a coherent mystery story.  
> You got werewolves, witches, but also specific characters like Dorian Gray or the Frankenstein creature.  
> Hopefully they will be recognizable enough!
> 
> A note on names: since the setting is London, and it's hard to keep consistent with every single nationality in Hetalia, some names have been adapted into English or French versions. Sometimes characters go by pseudonym, but they will reveal themselves soon enough! >:3 Enjoy the read!

 

> _London, 1889._

"You're late. Please, come in."  
With a loud creak the heavy ebony doors opened, leaving the chaos of the narrow street behind the two of them. The darkness of the sky at dusk replaced by the trembling light of candles, and the fog of London by a mixture of smoke, incense and dust.  
Felix guided his guest, his new _recruit_ , slowly across the corridors and stairs of the house; once a splendid mansion, now run-down by years of negligence and curses. Devils creeped in the shadows behind them as their steps echoed, following them closely, and Felix could feel each one of them.  
When they reached the room, a familiar face was waiting for them at his desk, a yellowed and heavy book open under his hands.  
"Sir, I brought him here."  
When he heard Felix' voice, he raised an eyebrow, and set his monocle aside.  
"Take a seat, please", he said, "May I know your name?"  
"You can call me Lawrence. Lawrence Talbot."  
"Mister Talbot, my name is Roderich Edelstein. I'm glad you came tonight."  
They shook hands, and Felix pulled out a chair for the guest to sit.  
From the sidelines, he _observed_. He observed as Sir Edelstein closed his book, slowly, his slender fingers trembling just slightly.  
He observed as Mister Talbot sat down, the way he adjusted his clothes, his shirt, the trace of gunpowder on his fingers. The sound of his voice, most of all.  
There's a lot you can hear, in someone's voice, a lot you can know.

"Do you know why you are here? Did Felix explain it to you?"  
Felix shrugged. The man raised an eyebrow. "I was told my skills as a sharp-shooter were needed, and to come to this place, and that is all."  
Sir Edelstein opened his book once again, and pulled a picture and a letter out of it.  
In the photograph, a picture that Felix had seen a dozen times and more, a girl that could have been fifteen, eighteen at most stood straight and composed next to a seated young man. In the corner, someone's messy handwriting spelled their names, and a date: "Sebastian and Erika Zwingli, 16th of July 1887". They had the same blonde hair, and stern demeanor- and yet Felix _observed_ , once again, and knew that something was not quite right. The bridge of their noses, the color of their eyes, the shape of their cheekbones. Sometimes, the truth was in the subtleties, the details that no one seemed to notice.  
"This girl... her name is Erika. She is the sister of one of my servants, and she's been missing for a few months now. You have to find her, and bring that home. Possibly alive."  
Lawrence sighed, and attempted an awkward, courteous smile. "With all due respect, Sir, I don't see how I could be of any use. I'm a gunslinger, not a detective, and not into the habit of rescuing little girls."  
"With all due respect, Mister Lawrence", Felix said, "you should let people finish before you interrupt. We are offering you a sum that would make your wage as a circus freak pale in comparison. And if your duty is to rescue a little girl, it would be a shame for a man of such great abilities to refuse it out of pride, wouldn't it? It's a good cause."  
"I suppose it is, yeah."  
The awkward grumble made Felix smirk in response. _Interesting. Maybe we have a soft-hearted man, after all._  
"Mister Lawrence, I would ask you to read the letter, before you judge the nature of this job. I am sure that would explain a lot."  
He read the letter, slowly, and Felix watched as his expression changed with every line, every word. By the time he was finished, he looked at the two of them with a puzzled expression.  
_Oh, poor boy. And you haven't seen anything yet._  
"What is this nonsense supposed to mean?"  
"Exactly what you read, Mister Talbot."  
"Vampires? I'm sorry", he said, and scoffed, "such things do not exist."  
Sir Edelstein folded the letter back into its envelope. "That is what Sebastian... and I, thought at first. Erika left on the day of her eighteenth birthday, to work as a housekeeper for a man that asked for maximum discretion, and secrecy. I encouraged her to accept the offering myself.  
However, her letters have grown increasingly dark, and her words fearful. She stopped visiting her brother altogether, and a few months ago, the letters have stopped coming. This was her last one, in which she tells us that the man who hired her must be a vampire of sorts. And given the circumstances, I'm starting to think there might be some truth to her words."  
"Sir, I am sorry, but what if these are just the delusions of a child? She probably fell in love with a kitchen boy and ran away, and invented this crazy story about vampires to justify her absence."  
"That would be impossible. I know Erika, and I know she was not that kind of person. As in, not crazy, and not inclined to make bad decisions in a fit of passion."  
Felix saw the hands of Mister Talbot shaking.  
_He's scared_ , he thought, and could not help but smile. Maybe a bit of banter could be what was needed, in this moment. Thankfully, Felix knew well how to turn a man to his passion and pride, in more than one way.  
"If the story is fake, Mister, wouldn't it be all the best for you? I mean, all the best for us. An easy job, and well paid. But if we are to face vampires... could it be that you fear them?"  
Mister Talbot frowned, and looked at him with anger, unmistakable anger, and yet— there was something in his eyes that made Felix shiver, something that reminded him of wild beasts, a primal energy waiting to be released. Maybe he had gone overboard with the cockiness; maybe, this was bound to be an interesting exchange.  
"I do not fear vampires, no."  
Sir Edelstein picked up on the atmosphere, and made his offer once again. "That would be good, because I need a man who is not afraid of the dark, and of the things that lurk within. The world that is hidden from us, under the surface, beyond what us humans can see or imagine. And, I need a man who is quick with a gun. Are you that man?"  
Mister Talbot nodded.  
Sir Edelstein smiled, and extended his hand, an invitation to seal the pact.  
"Then I will see you when you will find something. A trace, a sight. Anything. I hope the two of you can work well together."  
And with that, he dismissed them for the night.

* * *

 

With a single candlelight, Felix once again led the way in the corridor. The sounds of their steps were muffled by the fine persian carpet on the floor, and covered by the whistles of the wind passing through the cracks in the windows.  
"Your room is the one next to this", Felix said, "but if we are to work together, Mister Talbot, would you mind chatting with me, so that we can get to know each other?"  
"Sure."  
He followed him in the room, a pleasant and richly decorated parlor, and Felix walked towards the liquor cabinet without any hesitation.  
"So, I want to know something more about your life", he said, pouring some brandy into a crystal glass, "is it true that you are American?"  
He put two glasses on the table between the two of them.  
"I was born and raised in Nebraska, and I worked for years as a farmer."  
"A farmer?" Felix chuckled, and took one more sip of brandy. He looked at the man in front of him: his complexion, his physique did not seem fit for heavy work in the countryside, especially in the hot and barren lands of the New World.  
And yet, he noted his calloused hands, the freckles sprayed all over him like gunpowder. His face was rather plain, but there was something, something he could not exactly pinpoint, that made him graceful, yet handsome, and pleasant to his gaze. Maybe it was the brown curls, tumbling down his neck in ringlets. He stopped his observation when his eyes started travelling further _south_ — he took another sip of brandy, the cold liquor burned in his throat.  
"So, corn and cattle were your specialty. What made you pick up a gun?"  
"Self defense."  
"Mhm", he mumbled, playfully leaning forward, "that's a good story, but I think that's a lie."  
Mister Talbot blushed, flushed pink like a beetroot stew.  
"What- what would make you think—", he tried to protest, but Felix interrupted him.  
"I've simply observed you, Lawrence Talbot. Or is that your real name?  
I have heard your accent before, and as good as you are at masking it, the way you speak... your cadence, your mannerism, they tell me a whole 'nother story."  
The man finished his whole glass of liquor in one shot. _Impressive_.  
"I might be wrong", Felix continued, "but if I had to guess, I'd say eastern. Russian?"  
Felix couldn't help but smirk as his jaw dropped.  
"I- no. No, Lithuania."  
"Ah, bingo. Have you actually been to America?"  
"Yes, I moved there when I was a child. Or rather, during my adolescence."  
"Interesting. More brandy?"  
Lawrence Talbot declined the offer, but Felix poured some more for him anyway. He had already gotten past most of his barriers, and yet... he could tell that this was a man of many secrets, and very few words.  
And despite his answer, he drank it all anyway, this time in two rounds. _Still impressive._  
"So tell me more about the New Continent, sir. Is it as great as people say? Freedom, and all that?"  
"I guess", he shrugged, leaning back on his chair, "some things never change."  
"Like what?"  
"People's judgement. Americans and Europeans have more in common than they usually presume."  
Felix observed his expression, the cold in his eyes, intrigued by the story of this man. "People's judgement. Is that the reason why you left the Russian Empire?"  
Lawrence Talbot winced. The cold veil of his gaze grew as icy as a blizzard, a snow storm in the coldest Russian winter. "My family is... was, my family was Jewish. It's not like we had much of a choice."  
" _Oh_ ", was all that Felix managed to say, and he felt so stupid, so _foolish_ for that— "I understand."  
"You do not."  
_Stone cold._  
The silence in the room grew heavy, interrupted only by the clink of their glasses on the table.

"So, Felix? Is that your name?"  
The question made Felix jump in his seat.  
"Yes, that is. May I know what your name is, Lawrence Talbot? That does not sound very Russian to me."  
" _Lithuanian_."  
"Right", he corrected himself, "Lithuanian".  
"My name is Tolvydas."  
Felix looked at him. He looked relieved, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.  
"Tolvydas. I like it. It suits you."  
"Are you the only one who is allowed to ask questions, or can I also know about you?"  
"Sure, _Tolys_."  
He frowned at the nickname, which was just what Felix wanted. After a few years spent with Edelstein, he had grown tired of the man's cold, detached deadpan— the presence of someone who could actually _express emotions_ was refreshing, and much needed.  
"Well, first of all, about... _this_. The job. Why is the pay so high, to run to the rescue of a simple housekeeper? Last time I checked, they did not offer thousands to find disappeared kitchen wenches. Someone with this sort of money would surely just hire someone else."  
Felix smiled. _Was he really so oblivious?_  
"Sometimes things are not what they seem, and Erika is not a simple kitchen wench."  
The implication made Tolys think for a moment before his jaw dropped again. "You mean... but it could not be? _She_ is so young—"  
Felix could barely swallow the drink in his mouth before he bursted into laughter. " _Oh my god, no! No, no, you have it all wrong!_ God, you really are that oblivious, aren't you?"  
Tolys stared at him, dumbfounded. _He really was that oblivious_.  
"All I'm saying", Felix stated calmly, slowly, "is that Sebastian is a _comely_ young man, and Sir Edelstein the kind of man who would do anything to see his favourite happy, or at very least at peace... hard to accomplish when his beloved sister is missing, isn't it?"  
If Tolys had turned red as a beetroot stew before, his face was now set ablaze like an erupting volcano. Felix found the sight somewhat amusing, and he smiled at the way he tried to change subject, muttering words that probably only made sense in his head clouded by alcohol.  
"So, so I mean, anyway", he finally said, "what about you? What is your work, and how are we to co-operate? Tell me something more about you, I guess."  
"Sure. My name is Felix, as you know, as for my work", he said with a playful, cunning smirk, "I am but a family friend, with a passion for the Occult, the Gods long forgotten and the ones we pray, and the ways to work with them, or against them. I was born and raised in a house in the Scottish highlands, and named after Mary Stuart, the last Queen of Scots... my father was a Romantic, you see, a Catholic, a bit of a nationalist. I can speak French, Gaelic, and I can read Latin, Polish, a little bit of Russian, if it would be needed in our job."  
Tolys was speechless. "That's nonsense. It's as much of a lie as Lawrence Talbot is."  
"Well, _monsieur_ Tolvydas", Felix said, "I only told you the truth, and you treat me like this? Besides, _I think we have more in common than you might think_. Let me show something to you."  
From the pocket in his jacket he took a deck of cards. Their backs were pitch black, dark as the night sky— each of them outlined a different constellation.  
He skillfully arranged them in an arch on the table, with a swift move of his hand.  
"Pick one."  
The other man's look screamed skepticism louder than any words could.  
"Come on", Felix said, "let me show you my skills. The card you will pull will tell us how the job will end."  
Tolvydas scoffed as he dragged one card out of the line, and left without even bothering to flip it. He simply said that he was tired, and left the room.  
Alone with his thoughts, his cards and a bottle of brandy, Felix took one last sip before he turned the card.  
_The Lovers._  
_Oh, really?_  
He rested his forehead on his hands and couldn't help but smile, chuckle, and decide— maybe he would have another glass, just to celebrate. This man was bound to be interesting, to say the least.

* * *

 

In the dark of the night, the trembling flames of candles illuminated a room, their melted wax covering a table entirely. On the bed, a canopy of precious scarlet brocade, a woman marveled at the full moon, her silky pale hair glowing in shades of red and blue, ice and fire.  
Suddenly, someone tentatively knocked on the heavy door, with a soft touch that could barely be heard. The woman turned, adjusting her nightgown as she stood in the moonlight.  
Composed, elegant perfection. Her fingers, so unbearably cold, brushed slightly against the fire of a candle.  
She could not feel anything, nothing at all.  
"Vlad, is it you?", she asked, more assertive than she expected to sound.  
"Ma'am", a shaky voice came from behind the door, "I heard you called me?"  
And yes, sure enough, she did call for her.  
"Yes, Erika", she said, "you can come in."


	2. Chapter 2

The loud, creaking sound filled the room as the young girl pushed the door open, struggling to not lose grip of her oil lamp.  
Her hands were shaking, badly.  
" _Madame_ Nathalie", she said meekly, "your sister is here with me, if you don't mind..."  
"Of course I do not mind. Let her in."  
Sophie followed suit, and entered her room. She looked slightly flushed, as if she had run through the corridor just then; but Nathalie decided to pay it no mind, and focus her attention on the serving girl instead.  
"I called you regarding your brother", she said, "remember the favor you asked me?"  
Erika was shaking like a leaf, fiddling with the ribbon tied around her wrist.  
"Yes, Ma'am. I mean, _Madame_."  
"I brought up the matter to Vladimir, and he says he understands how much you must love your brother, and how much you want to hear from him. However, we cannot run into the risk of letting your correspondance continue, even under our watch."  
Nathalie's words made Erika's eyes swell up with tears. _The poor thing_ , she thought, but what could she do, after all, what could she do that she had not already tried?  
Nathalie knew that, just like herself, Erika had _seen_. However, unlike herself, Erika was innocent. To someone like Erika, what she had _seen_ might have felt like staring into the eyes of the Devil himself; and ever since she had _seen_ it, she could not make herself look into Vladimir and Nathalie's eyes.  
_If only I could turn time backwards, and take back that same innocence I lost once again._  
Erika's tears stirred up conflicted feelings in her gut: pity. Frustration. _Envy_.  
She dismissed her, fully knowing that holding her captive in such a manner was cruel— she promised to herself, and to Erika, that she would attempt to bring it up again later, when her lover would join her in her chambers.  
Behind her, the moon witnessed it all from the open window, and the sounds of London's streets at night filled the air.

* * *

 

"Nata, we need to talk..."  
_Oh, well, fuck_. She had forgotten that her sister was still there, standing in a corner, waiting for her turn to speak to her.  
And judging by the envelope she was clutching, she was not going to bring any good news, or pleasant conversation.  
She gestured at Sophie to sit on the bed next to her. "Is that letter what I think it is? Did you visit our brother again?"  
Sophie could not hide her guilt, nor her embarrassment. So pitifully earnest, she was, that Nathalie almost felt bad for her, and their brother— maybe a hint of sincere sorrow, maybe a leftover of her previous conversation.  
"He says he is sorry, and that he misses you very much", she said, "that he will do anything in his power to earn your forgiveness."  
A chill ran through Nathalie's spine. Her _forgiveness_? He would have to wait a lifetime, and a lifetime more. "Then, tell him to kill himself, and then bring himself back to life. So that he may know the way I feel."  
" _Natalya_ —"  
"It's Nathalie."  
"Right. _Nathalie_ ", Sophia corrected herself, and scoffed, "you know that he only meant well. You know that all he wanted, was for the three of us to be together once again."  
"He turned me into a monster."  
"You had _died_!"  
Nathalie could not take this, not anymore. She stood up and walked away, towards her candles, to slowly blow them out one by one.  
"God had taken me, and I'd rather be one of the thousands who have died of consumption, rather than an _abomination_. I think I've made myself clear many times, by now."  
She felt Sophie's gaze on the back of her neck, creeping like a spider with a hundred legs.  
She knew her brother did not mean to hurt her. She knew that many people would have sold all they had in possession to bring back to life a loved one.  
_And yet..._  
And yet, there was something unsettling about her condition.  
Like taking a walk, and not being able to feel the sunlight on her skin.  
And the moment she came back— the way she was suddenly conscious of what she had seen.  
_When I died, there was no heaven or hell, only a bleak and thick darkness around me._  
That was all she had seen, felt, what she had become, she had _been_ , a feeling that swallowed her body and soul whole. She wondered if that was what hell felt like; she wondered if heaven or hell had ever existed, at all.  
"Nata", Sophie said, interrupting her thoughts, breaking the silence, "I know it must be terrible. I know. You've told me many times, and yet... if Ivan had not brought you back, you would not be standing there. You wouldn't be talking to me. You wouldn't have met..."  
" _Vladimir_? Yes, I wouldn't. I also wouldn't have spent months of my life whoring and begging."  
"That woudn't have happened if you had stayed with us."  
"And yet it is here that you live, and not in Ivan's run down room."  
Sophie looked genuinely hurt by her words. "That is only because he told me to keep an eye on you."  
"And that is only because he did not want to lose his control on me."  
"You know what, we have had this conversation before, and it just is not going anywhere. I'll leave the letter on your nightstand... please, take some time to read it. At least. Goodnight."  
Sophie walked outside, shutting the door slowly, but with enough force that Nathalie could just feel the anger seeping through the façade of her sister's gentle demeanor.

* * *

 

She only left one candle lit, and she took it to her vanity corner, her shadow trembling behind her with the dance of that single flame.  
Nathalie looked at herself in the mirror.  
For all of her life, people had told her that she was beautiful. Not that she would have denied it— but right now, the woman in front of her felt so foreign, so far away. Almost like a fantasy, a memory that had long faded.  
_But it is me. When I touch my nose, I can see her doing the same._  
She grabbed her hairbrush, and slowly brushed her long, blonde hair. Nathalie counted each stroke, up until thirty-six, when suddenly the door creaked.  
Behind her a shadow appeared in the mirror, slowly approaching.  
"I was expecting you", she said, looking at the man's reflection.  
"You hair is soft as silk, my lady."  
Vladimir gently caressed her hair, combing through her locks with his fingers. His touch moved then from her hair, to the slender curve of her neck— she knew what he wanted, and tilted her head slightly, letting her hair fall on the side. Leaving her skin, flesh, _pulse_ completely exposed.

  
He kissed her, slowly, leaving a trail from the line of her jaw to her collarbone.  
"I missed you", he said, and Nathalie felt her heart swell, and her cheeks flush. _This feeling_... the only warmth she was ever allowed to feel, from the day she was reborn as a monster, to the rest of her eternity.  
"I missed you too."  
He left another kiss on her cheek before laying on the bed, reclining on the soft velvet pillows with a book and a glass of wine. Nathalie observed him from the mirror, and she felt dizzy, and short of breath.  
The way his red hair tumbled down his forehead, and curled at the height of his neck... her lover's beauty never failed to awe her, every night moreso than the previous.

_Even when she remembered the portrait, locked and hidden in the attic, her feelings for him did not change._

"My darling", she said, and she sat on the bed next to him, "I must bring up the matter of the young serving girl again."  
He scoffed at her words, unforgiving. "Erika? I told you. It's a no."  
"She just wants to let her brother know she's alright. She has promised she would let us read all of her letters, and censor them as we please."  
"Nathalie, my dear, you know as well as I that there would always be a risk."  
"But she's so innocent, Vladimir. This feels so wrong."  
He closed his book and put out the flame of his lamp. Nathalie did not miss the sorrowful expression of his face, engraved in his moonlit skin. The pale light of the night made him look almost like he was carved in marble, and Nathalie was Psyche, discovering her Eros for the first time—  
She leaned closer, and he kissed her gently on the lips, promising that soon he would talk to the girl himself. _Lies_ , she thought, _you're never here, never when I need you the most._  
And what was worse, all this talk of letters had reminded her of the envelope right next to her, a piece of paper that felt heavy as lead as she picked it up to read it.  
Nathalie only skimmed the content of the letter, and every line made her fingers more tense, and her head dizzier.  
_My dear sister... I beg of you... forgive... and we will once again be together... for our sister, do it for her, if not for me... please, I will eagerly await your reply... Ivan_.  
She closed it again, the weight of the letter now an uncomfortable anchor in her chest, and locked it in the drawer of the nightstand.  
When she laid down and tried to close her eyes, she could feel it once again: the cold, merciless darkness. To sleep is to die, in a way— and Nathalie did not look forward to it, and now much less than usual.  
"Vlad", she whispered, barely making a sound.  
_And yet, he had heard her voice._  
"My darling?"  
She clutched at his robe, the red satin felt smooth and soft between her fingers.  
"Are you going to wake up early tomorrow?"  
"No", he said, gently caressing her cheek. "What is it?"  
Slowly, tenderly, she sat up and straddled his lap, her hips aligned with his.  
Her hair fell down like a waterfall around his head, blonde locks circling red like a halo.  
"Then, please, stay up with me a little longer."  
Vladimir smiled, and bared her shoulders with a touch.  
"Of course, my love."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... in which Natalya and Sofiya are ouiaboos and change their names into French because I can and if great Russian authors of the 19th century indulged in giving Russian characters foreign nicknames and the title madame/mademoiselle why can I not.  >:D  
> Thank you for reading until the very end, I hope you enjoyed it- and a big thank you in advance to anyone who might leave feedback on this. Your kind words are what motivates me to go on writing <3 as for updates, I will start on the next chapters asap!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 and 4 are finally done- thank you to everyone who has read so far and left nice comments, and everyone who was interested in this fic! ;u;

The apartment was filled with the sound of the rain, heavy and merciless, leaving tracks all over the cracked glass of the windows. Felix tapped his finger on the table, bored, impatient.  
He had been working on this new drawing for an hour, and he still felt like something was not right. The nose was too small, or maybe, the eyes too big?   
With a sigh, he discarded the paper for now, and looked up at Tolvydas, still sitting on the old armchair and fully immersed in reading the letters that Erika had sent from her mysterious workplace before she had disappeared into thin air.  
From the look on his face, he really looked like he needed a coffee, or some gin— and so did Felix, if he were to be honest with himself. He looked at the clock- five p.m., definitely the right time for a drink.   
"So, _Monsieur Talbot_ ," he called him as he poured him a glass, "any progress with our research?"

Tolvydas _glared_ at him, and threw the papers on the coffee table.  
"No, not really. All this nonsense is making my head hurt, it feels like reading one of those cheap penny dreadfuls they sell on the streets these days. But, I think we could try to narrow it down."  
Felix raised an eyebrow. "How so?"  
"Well," he responded, retrieving one letter from the pile, "you said that someone in a street market said he had seen the girl of your drawing, right?"  
"Yes, a butcher. He said that the face was familiar, and she used to buy meat from him regularly. But I don't know how reliable— well, I'm not sure if I have captured her likeness well enough."  
"I think you did a great job, actually."  
Felix flinched, clutching harder at the glass in his hands. Why was he feeling _embarrassed_ , of all things, really? For the first time in years, he found himself mute and fidgeting and wondering where his confidence had gone.  
"Anyway," Tolvydas continued, "the street market. It's a general location. And I think we can narrow it down by reading this letter."  
He passed the paper to Felix, and he quickly skimmed over it. He vaguely remembered it, one of the first and oldest ones she had sent.  
 _Dear Basch... so kind... the lady, so beautiful, makes my heart swell... roasted potatoes... all kinds of roses in the garden, red roses, at the gate._  
Felix gave Tolvydas a puzzled glance.  
"And how is this supposed to help us? It's nothing but mundane happenings and swooning over this supposedly beautiful woman. There's nothing about vampires, or strange behaviors, or what is actually going on in there."  
"There's a _trace_."  
The explanation only confused Felix further. "You mean, the _lady_? We can't get a list of all the beautiful blonde women in London now, can we?"  
 _Although, they could try_ , he thought, but before he could come up with a plan Tolvydas _smiled_ at him. "No, no. The roses, you see here, the rose garden, near the gate. There's no description of the gate, but I'm sure we can narrow this down to all the big properties in the area of the market, the mansions and villas of the rich people there, old and new money... someone's going to have a rose garden close to a gate, maybe it's going to be more than one of them, but it's still more than nothing."

Felix thought about it for a moment. Just a moment, though— and he could not help but chuckle.  
"Red roses? In this season? I am sorry, but I'm sure there will be none in sight. Have you taken a look outside? It's the middle of a storm here."  
"Well, but you can tell apart rose bushes from other plants, even without flowers. And if you can't, I can. It's not that hard."  
Felix frowned. He did _not_ appreciate the snappish attitude. But then, again, this was not worth arguing: if he was right, this was the only trace they had.  
And since the life of a young woman was at stake, they should follow it before it would be too late.

* * *

 

The following day, the rain had subdued, but a thick mist persisted in the muddy air of London.   
When Felix and Tolvydas showed up at the same market, it was not easy to even know where to begin looking for a rose garden: thankfully, Felix had some bravado to spare, and decent acting skills.

"Excuse me, I have to visit my cousin, but I think she gave me the wrong address: would you happen to know her? Do you know of a house with a rose garden on its gates?"  
From the answers they gathered from the people, mostly housewives and old crones, orphan children and beggars, four different villas had rose gardens in the general area.

Felix dragged Tolvydas through the buildings, the first three, according to the general directions they were given, and asked the gatekeepers if they had seen the girl in the drawing. No one seemed to recognize her, and he could not sense any tension or anger in their voices. One person even asked why they were looking for a kitchen servant at all.

There was something about the stark contrast, the opulence of those gardens compared to the rumpled, disheveled clothes of the people that guided them there that didn't sit right with him.  
But then again, was he not born a noble? Was he not a part of that very same inequality?  
He really wondered if that was how Tolvydas saw him, or Sir Edelstein, after all. He wondered what he had gone through, and for some reason, there were so many questions he wanted to ask. On the other hand, after his boastful speech from a few days before, his business partner had not asked him anything more, nor had he shown any interest in what he had to say that went further than polite, useless small talk.  
However, why was he even surprised? It was not like the two of them were anything more than that, business partners. If he had been hoping to find a friend in him, he was wrong: he could bet that Tolvydas would be gone as soon as his paycheck would be in his pocket.  
A friend... yeah, sure, a _friend_.  
He scoffed at the thoughts and chased them away, because there was no time to waste with one more villa left to check, and the sun already setting through the mist, painting the sky in the dark hues of the night, and a warm hint of light , circling it as a halo would. Warming Felix' heart a little even in the heart of London's fog.

  
The last building was at an unusual location: it seemed it was hidden by one of the new apartment complexes that had been built through the city, to house the new and rising _petite bourgeoisie_ that had been popping up like mushrooms in the mud with all the _progress_ taking place nowadays.   
Luxury, but not too much: an illusion of luxury, more like. An ugly grey building of tacky, poor taste, and behind it, seemingly nothing but a park.   
However, one of the children who had spoken to them said that he came there every Friday night, when people in fancy attire, sometimes even masks, would gather and silently walk into a gate covered in red roses— well, at least in the summer.   
_They'd pay anything to just get rid of me_ , he said.   
And sure enough, following a side path and facing a narrow street, definitely too narrow for carriages to pass, the gate was there: a spiked gate, covered in harsh and thorny tangles that were once beautiful roses, leading seemingly into a garden covered with thick oak trees, and no gatekeeper in sight.   
"I don't like this place," Tolvydas said as soon as they got in front of it. "It's just not right."  
"What is not right?"  
" _This_. You can only see, part of it among the trees, but... why is this place so dark?"  
Felix shrugged. The walls and door of the building were eerily close to being pitch-black. "Maybe whoever lives here likes it that way."  
"Yes, but..."  
"But what?"  
"This doesn't feel right, Felix. The look of this gate, and what we can see... it's so ominous. It really does seem like we ended up in a terrible, twisted story. A cheap thriller... and the next necks to be snapped will be ours."  
"Tolys, come on," he said with a smile, "and what if we are? Follow your gut. I have a feeling that this place is the right one. And I can assure you, I won't let anyone snap your neck, as long as you follow me closely."  
Tolvydas chuckled nervously. "I'm the one who is supposed to protect you."  
"But I'm the one who can sense danger."  
On the other side of the wall, suddenly, Felix could hear someone's steps.

A woman walked up to them, slowly and cautiously, dragging a striped blue and cream-colored dress on the muddy path.   
From the look of her clothing, definitely high quality and refined wool, Felix would have thought she was the lady of the house ( _she is blonde_ , he noted, _but her hair is not long: not the lady of the letter, then_ ), but the circles under her eyes, and the cuts on her calloused hands made him think otherwise.  
Could this be the gatekeeper?  
"Who are you people, and what do you want?", she asked, with an exhausted inflection in her voice.  
"I am looking for my cousin", Felix said, "she gave me an address, but I think this might be the wrong place. Have you seen this girl, does she work here?"

For a moment, _just a moment_ , her eyes widened. The corners of his lips twitched. The tension in her hands became increasingly more evident by the second.  
 _This is it. Gatekeeper, Lady; whoever you are, you're a really bad liar._  
"No... no, I have not. Is that all?"  
Felix smiled at her answer.  
 _I am sure you have, my Lady._  
He shrugged, and folded the drawing back into his pocket. "Yes, that would be all. Thank you so much, I'm sorry I bothered you, Ma'am! Have a good day!"  
"You too."  
With that cold answer, she once again disappeared behind the wall.  
And Felix thought it wise to do the same, taking Tolvydas by the wrist and dragging him away, as far as they could go, until they stopped into a dark, dirty alley.  
The sun had almost disappeared behind the skyline of the city; and the Big Ben chimed as the clock hit seven p.m.

"Tolys," he huffed, almost out of breath, "I think we have found the place."  
Tolvydas looked at him, eyes fixed and panting heavily.   
_Ah_ , Felix noted, _he's so close_ — he felt his erratic breath on his skin, his pulse in his hand, _their hands still holding, ah_ , he noted further, and he immediately let go. He could feel his face flush, the blood riding up his neck— the first button of his shirt had opened, and—!  
"And what is our plan now? The gate has spikes. One slip," Tolvydas said, "and we're meat for the crows."  
Felix almost could not hear what he said. He could not look away from the brown curls tumbling down to Tolys' collarbone— and he had seemed to notice.  
"What got into you? Cat got your tongue?"  
" _Ah_ ," was all he pathetically managed to say, averting his gaze, "no, um. I need time to think— I need time to think of a plan..."  
The chilly air of the evening cooled his temper quickly enough. "It is a Friday, right? Today. Tonight."  
"Yes," Tolvydas said, "why is that?"  
"The party. The gathering. You know what I mean. There's going to be one. Every Friday, the boy said, if we are inclined to believe him."  
Tolvydas scoffed, obviously displeased with the plan. "I think the lady saw our faces too well for us to seep among the guests. She would recognize us immediately."  
Felix smirked. _Had he already forgotten what the child had said?_ He could be so distracted, sometimes...  
"I mean, that's not going to be a problem. Tolvydas, do you own any masks? Because I think I have one that would look just gorgeous with your eyes."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this far- this chapter was kind of a filler, but the real investigation begins now! >:3 Stay tuned!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we start, just a quick warning for this chapter for depictions of demonic possession. Not sure if it would upset anyone, but still, proceed with caution!

In the middle of the night, the windows on each side of the street glistened with candlelights, and the soft and warm yellow of oil lamps and fireplaces. However, the warmth was overwhelmed by the cold and damp feeling of the fog, infiltrating every corner in sight, like an ever-present ghost.  
Furthermore, the rain from the previous days had left puddles all over the sidewalks, and Tolvydas had to try his darnedest to not ruin the fancy shoes that his... _investigation partner_ had found for him.  
Fancy shoes, and an outfit just as perplexing: a (more or less) fitted suit, slightly too short around his ankles, a papillon, a coat lined with dark, blue-green velvet. Not that it was that unusual, other than well, the bright green _mask_ covering his face, lined with peacock feathers. But he had never worn anything similar before; not even for his cousin's wedding, but _back then_ — back then, it would have been impossible for him to show up in a suit at all.  
"Heavens, you look like a foozler, Tolys! Are you sure that you are as good a sharp-shooter as you say you are? I can't really picture you shooting bullets in the air as you skip and jump like that. Or, well, maybe..."  
Felix' teasing smile made his blood boil. Was he not concerned at all about their disguise being ruined? It sure would have been _queer_ , at least in his mind, for a rich young man to show up half-caked with mud, and with socks soaked all the way through. And also...  
"You had the chance to see for yourself, didn't you?", he said, careful to skip the _gift_ that someone's horse had left on the street this time, "I did not miss a single target, or did I?"  
Felix giggled, and smooth as a cat, he linked his arm to his elbow. "You did not, if I recall correctly. It was actually a funny show, you know!"  
Something did not sit right in Tolvydas' gut. The shirt and bow tie suddenly felt too tight around his neck, and he awkwardly pushed Felix' arm away, before... before his jacket would get crumpled, or something like that.  
They walked in silence for a few alleys, and Tolvydas felt like he wanted to say something, but what even? Something that was bugging him, anything...  
" _That said_ —"  
He immediately interrupted himself, embarrassed at the sound of his voice breaking like this— _again, shit, not again_ — he cleared his throat, and started over again. "That said, which one of us is going to go in first? I have no experience with this sort of... _social gathering_ , you know. I'm assuming that you know the manners and etiquette better than I do, and would drive less suspicions upon yourself."  
Felix shrugged. "Never had a conversation with a rich, spoiled, overgrown man-child? It's easier than you might think."  
"Only one, but I do not think _you_ would count."  
" _What, you!_ " Felix almost yelled, and the next thing Tolvydas felt was a hit of his elbow.  
Right in the ribs.  
"Ow! That hurt!"  
"That was well deserved."  
When he turned back to look at him, Felix was pouting— _yep_ , he thought, _an overgrown man-child alright_. He did not dare say it out loud, though.  
"Besides, I do not understand why we would even need to get in separately. You just stick by my side, and you will be fine."  
Tolvydas frowned. "I think two masked bachelors going in without _company_ would catch too much attention, wouldn't we?"  
Felix looked at him, baffled. And then, he _laughed_. A hearty, genuine laugh— somewhat high pitched, and so _obnoxious_ , and yet—  
"What, what are you laughing for? Mine was a legitimate question!"  
"Aaah, I'm sorry," he said, "I mean, you got me there! Tolvydas, can I tell you something?"  
"Sure."  
"Now I know that you've never been at such a party before, like, ever. Relax! No one will question it. In fact, I don't think we will be the only ones."

The closer they got to the alley, the more suspicious people wearing or carrying masks they encountered on the street. Some couples, some lonely old men... and as Felix said, they were not the only two men in a pair, nor young women in similar arrangement lacked.  
They followed closely behind two such young ladies, their arms entwined, careful to look as casual as possible. The gate of the villa was supervised only by a small child, giving out pansies to guests.  
And, sure enough, the kid from the market was there, begging for his share: Felix gave him a few pounds, and a wink. From the child at the gate, Tolvydas grabbed a pansy for him and one for his partner, and they adjusted them in the pockets of their jackets.  
Reluctantly, he passed the gate, and followed the ladies' lead. Somehow, Felix' arm around his felt comforting in the moment, a crutch to help him walk through the darkness. Because the garden was dark, the only light being the lamp hanging outside the front door. Although eerily dark, it seemed smaller than he had anticipated from the outside: the thick trees gave an illusion of depth, but the path was rather short, if one knew where to walk.

When they reached the door, Tolvydas pushed it.  
It opened slowly, with a loud creak. The light coming from the inside almost blinded him— but when he could finally see more clearly, he saw a great hall filled with dozens of men and women with and without masks, laughing and chatting and drinking together.  
It wouldn't have looked much different from any other party hosted by some noble, or some bourgeois family who just came into money and had no idea where to spend it, if one had not taken a moment to notice the _details_ around them.  
In every darker corner of the room, couples were openly displaying their affections, interwined into hugs, kisses, and in some cases, Tolvydas suspected, even _intercourse_...  
A huge, round mahogany table was in one of the corners, and people were seemingly playing cards in a circle; until one could see that they were not the kind of cards you would see in a tavern, but rather in a fortune teller's tent.  
He observed the room in awe, dumbfounded at the opulence of it all: the furniture, the walls, the people— and he noticed that Felix was staring as well, looking at something above.  
"What is it?"  
"Look there," Felix said, "the portrait. I think we are in the right place."

The heavy baroque frame circled the enormous, almost surreal portrait of a lady. From above, her blue eyes stared down at everyone in the room. Her expression was pensive, with a hint of melancholy, and locks of pale blonde hair fell on her exposed shoulders.  
In her hands, covered by black gloves, she kept a single red rose and a small book.  
"The frame is definitely old, but I don't think this painting is. I give it a couple years at most."  
Tolvydas almost did not hear him, completely absorbed in contemplation.  
"Do you think this is the lady that Erika is speaking of?"  
"Bingo," Felix said, a hint of irritation in his voice, "as proved by the fact that she's not the only one who fell in love at first sight, I suppose."  
For the first time that evening, he let go of his arm to pour himself a drink. Tolvydas followed him with his eyes, and then glanced at the painting again.  
If this was new— if, _and if_ , Felix was right, then wouldn't the lady be somewhere in the room? If so, how had he not noticed her? Even with a distracted glance, if the artist did her justice, it would have been impossible not to.  
His eyes scanned over the people around them, an ocean of feathers and hats and glittering jewels of gold and diamonds, of faces hidden and bodies in various states of undress, until he noticed something he had not seen before.

* * *

 

When Felix came back, he had two glasses of liquor in his hands, and he lended one to Tolvydas with a sigh. "Anything new?", he asked, then proceeded to empty his glass in just one gulp.  
_Impressive._  
"Well, over at the table. I cannot be sure, of course, but the hair looks very similar."  
Sitting next to a man in a ridiculous, embroidered red velvet cape was a lady with long, fair hair. Of course, Tolvydas could see nothing but her back, and her hand, covered by lacy gloves: and yet, if he were to trust his gut, as Felix kept saying— then in his gut, there was no doubt that she was _the one_.  
"Mmh, I see," Felix said with a nod, "are we supposed to join them?"  
"I think we could, yes."  
"Then I'll try to take the place next to her. I want to look at her face."  
Felix led the way, marching and almost stomping his feet, attracting the gaze of everyone else in the room. Tolvydas wanted to disappear— he followed closely, trying to not catch too much attention.  
As soon as they got close to the table, everyone's eyes were on them. It seemed like they had arrived at the right moment, for they were told something was about to start.  
Felix didn't wait to introduce himself, and ask if they could take a seat, staring directly into the lady's eyes. She looked at them, and Tolvydas _knew_.  
His feeling wasn't wrong. Even covered by a lace mask, her sharp lineaments and pale eyelashes couldn't belong to anyone else.  
He sat down awkwardly next to Felix, and soon enough, a circle was formed of people holding each other's hands. He took Felix' hand, and the hand of the man on his left; he noticed that Felix was sweating, and probably more nervous than he let on.

There were so many questions that Tolvydas wanted to ask, that night.  
A valet came with a silver censer and placed it in the center of the table. The scent of the smoke quicky filled the air, and people's lungs and minds were obfuscated.  
The man in the red cape cleared his voice to make an announcement.

" _Mesdames et messieurs_ , we are gathered here tonight around this table to play a game, if you will, a simple divination that me and my Lady hope will entertain you all.  
You see, from the day she was born, she has always been able to see past the veil: the voices of ghosts whisper in her years from their lives past!  
And today, she is here to gift her art and talent to all of you."  
The people in the circle giggled, whispered, fidgeted. The lady bowed her head slightly before her audience.  
"Now all of you close your eyes," the man continued, "and think intensely of someone you loved, and you lost. My sun and stars, what do you see? Who do you hear?"  
"I hear a voice, I can feel it burning in my throat..."  
Tolvydas was not impressed with the game at all. He had heard of similar sibyls and oracles, all similarly skilled in the art of being charlatans.  
"He speaks.. or she speaks, what a lovely sound... _Italian_ , I think, or is it? Spanish? _No, no_... is there anyone who lost a lover, a lover from somewhere warm..."  
Felix' hand in his, however, was shaking and cold. For someone who had claimed to deal with the occult, he shouldn't have been so scared of something like this.  
He could not see him with his eyes closed, but he could hear the voice of the lady, now humming a song, and a deep, guttural growl—

_"Vladimir," she said suddenly, "Vladimir, this is not right. This is not right."_

Tolvydas opened his eyes, and the light of the hall made his vision blurry.  
She looked at the man next to her, her eyes wide open, white with fear. It took him a moment to notice who the man in question was staring at.

Right next to him, Felix was the one growling.  
His mouth was warped into a horrible grimace, his eyes white and red and the veins on his neck blue and his hands _shaking, twisting, sweating_ —  
And then, he _screamed_.

The next thing he knew, was that Felix was on the table, muttering nonsense, disconnected words and sounds as he clawed at his neck.  
_He's coming, he's coming! I almost touched him, I can almost touch him, the light— the eyes! His eyes on me! Fire!_  
Tolvydas was blocked, speechless, scared, unsure of what to do until Felix started clawing at his chest, ripping his clothes, and when he saw _that_ —

 

At around five in the morning, Felix finally opened his eyes again.  
He coughed a few times, and Tolvydas immediately checked the damp cloth on his forehead: this one had become hot as well. He immediately went to retrieve a fresh one for him, and he sat by his side, as he did all night long.  
"Where am I?"  
Felix' voice was hoarse and pained.  
"You're back in your room. You seem to have a fever."  
"I noticed that, thank you very much. How did I get here?"  
"Me and another man dragged you away. You collapsed after a few minutes... thankfully he was so kind as to provide a carriage for us."  
Felix grunted at that. He did not seem pleased with the outcome of the night at all.  
"Tolys, were you the one who changed my clothes?"  
For a moment, Tolvydas did not know what to say. Would a simple "yes" reassure him? Or would it make him feel angry, hurt, violated?  
"Yes, it was me. You had started... don't ask me how, but you had torn your shirt. That's part of why I decided to abort the mission."  
Felix looked at him with a knowing smirk. "Is that all? You don't seem half surprised."  
"I can't say I wasn't, but I also can't say I am..."  
"That's the vaguest answer you could ever give, Tolys. You're spending way, way too much time around me." He sat up slightly, enough to grab the glass of water sitting on his nightstand. "Anyway, thank you so much for taking the bandage off. Very considerate of you."  
"It was no problem. Besides, it hurts like a bitch to fall asleep with it."  
All the conversation had managed to do was to draw Tolvydas' attention to his chest once again. The white cotton nightgown that Felix kept in his closet was already sheer and revealing enough— and now that his fever made him sweat through it, the fabric was slightly damp, Tolvydas could _see_. He desperately tried to look away, but his mind jumped to the picture of a few hours earlier. The shape of his nipples, the way his skin felt so soft on his hands... his own face flushing then as it did now.  
In an attempt to chase away the hot, raw feeling in his groin and the memory from his head, he gulped, and realized that his throat was suddenly really dry. _Too_ dry.  
"Can I have some of your water? I'm feeling thirsty all of a sudden."  
Felix shrugged, tending his glass to him.  
Their hands touched for a moment, and the cold of the glass and the warmth of Felix' fingers and the way he was _looking_ at him now, all of a sudden— and the way that his hand moved from the glass to his arm, moving up to his shoulder, it was all _too much_ —  
"Tolvydas, could it be?"  
"I'm sorry, what?"  
"About you. About me. When I said— remember when we met, when I said that we had more in common than you knew? Did you _know_ , just as I did? And are we really?"  
Tolvydas placed the glass back on the table. He hadn't drank a single drop of water, and yet, he did not mind at all as he guided Felix' hand under his shirt.

There was a dark shadow, a magnetic force in Felix' eyes then, something that drove Tolvydas closer, sinking deeper and deeper in the linen sheets of his bed.  
At this point, he had forgotten how to think, how to _not_ think— how to stay away as Felix pulled him down, the warmth of his hand moving to his back, a caress of skin on skin under his shirt. He was so close now he could smell the scent of his hair, _ah_ , how had he missed this perfume all night long?  
Lavender and sandalwood and the earthy and distinctly _human_ undertones of his skin, the cold sweat of his fever, the sweat he felt so clearly on his cheek as he moved down to kiss his neck, his shoulder... his hand sliding shamelessly on Felix' hips, tracing to his thighs, under the edge of his nightgown.  
_And how his legs opened eagerly for him, melting like hot wax under his touch, slowly coming undone..._

Until Felix suddenly became cold, his whole body shaking.  
_"Move!"_  
His voice was loud, and sudden— Tolvydas obliged, he sat on the edge as he watched him trying to keep control of his arms, his knees, taken by convulsions, he retrieved something from his drawer and fell to the ground and _crawled_ , crawled on his knees to a corner of the room.  
"I'm so sorry," he said, his voice broken and low, "please, please leave. Now! _Please_."  
Tolvydas did as he said, marking the night in his mind as something he should forget, forget everything he has seen, everything he had felt.  
And yet, the picture of Felix kneeling in front of the crucified Christ on the wall, a golden rosary in his hand— it haunted him, haunted his eyes as his voice followed him in the corridor, step by step.  
And even at the end of it, Tolvydas could hear him chant, unfamiliar and otherwordly sounds echoing in his head.

 _Ave Maria, gratia plena,_  
_Dominus tecum,_  
_benedicta tu in mulieribus,_  
_et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus._  
_Sancta Maria, mater Dei,_  
_ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc et in hora mortis nostrae..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to anyone who read this far, and thank you in advance to anyone who will comment on this!! This chapter was a pain to write, because I feel like my writing isn't quite at the point where I want it to be, but I gave it my best shot! ;u; I'll post chapter 5 asap, and the POV will shift back again to Nata and her entourage.


	5. Chapter 5

Her fingers danced on the white and ebony bones of the piano's keyboard, gracious ghosts haunting the stale air of the attic with the sound of a toccata and fugue.  
Unrestful, a piece in Prestissimo; the music ran as fast as her thoughts, resting on certain notes, dissonant on others. A _concerto_ with no audience allows for more freedom and more mistakes.

Nathalie did not know what she had felt that night.  
She knew, however, that something had gone horribly wrong: and since then she had felt fearful, watching her back at the slightest sound.  
That was why the music, so unskillfully played with shaky fingers, had given her a certain peace of mind. Something to focus on, something to cover the creaking noises of the old house.  
Something to drown her fears in sounds and beauty.

In front of her, the cursed and blessed portrait of her beloved stared down at her.  
It was still hard, in many ways, to believe that the man in the painting was her Vladimir, so youthful and gentlemanly, so handsome and kind.  
And yet, those cunning red eyes could not lie to her.  
The man in front of her, his face scarred by age and violence, his hands wrinkly and purple as a dried plum, this man with his devilish grin and blood on his clothes was the same man who held her every night.  
The same man who entered the room behind her, and with his warm and suave voice told her exactly what she expected to hear.  
" _I knew I would find you there_."

"Hello, Vlad. I was playing the piano."  
"I heard that. Mind if I join?"  
"I'm not in the mood for a four-hand sonata," she sighed, closing the sheet of music in front of her. He sat down next to her anyway, taking her hand in his.  
"My dear, will you tell me what happened? You look so pale."  
Nathalie raised an eyebrow. "I... I am always pale, I am..."  
"Yes," he smiled, "I know. What I mean is that you look... troubled. And your silence only worries me more."  
She looked up at the portrait in front of her once again.

  
_Vladimir grinned at her, his teeth bare. Vladimir smiled at her, his eyes hopeful._

"The problem is, I'm not quite sure what happened.  
Usually, when we play those games, a mother will come to me, a father, sometimes a child. A brother, a sister, a lost lover. They tell me to warn their dearest ones, or to greet them, and that's it. But this time...  
This time, Vladimir, I don't know what I have heard. But it was not something of this world."  
"Are you saying that ghosts are usually of this world?"  
"Well," she said, rubbing her temple to find an answer that would make sense to him, "in a way, they are. They're not _entirely_ \- like you, like me, they're stuck in an in between, trapped and unable to be human, but also to not be.  
What I've heard today, however- whatever was talking, it was something like I've never felt before. A voice calling from afar, yet close as if they were inside my own head, as if it were me... and the warmth. The heat. It was as if my lungs had been set on fire, Vladimir. I could feel the table burning. I could feel the heat... for the first time, in so long."

She was angry, Nathalie, a fire still burned in her chest. She had hoped that she would feel the warmth of her lover's kisses, her sister's hand- certainly not a demon creeping in her soul. Tainting the only thing of life she had left.

Vladimir, however, just looked at her. The expression on his face made him look older.  
_(Not as old as he actually was, but still._ )  
"Do you think those people had something to do with it?"  
Nathalie frowned. "The guy who had a fit?"  
"Yes, and his partner. Do you think they called it here?"  
"It's hard to tell," she said, absentmindedly hitting a key on the piano. "Maybe it just came there, and he was just the chosen victim. Maybe he called it there. But Vladimir, there's something else that feels heavy on my thoughts."  
"Tell me, my beloved."  
He kissed her hand, and Nathalie sighed. Her hand was cold and unfeeling as always, stuck in eternal winter.  
"The man who sat next to him. The one who took him away. He looked at me... and I could feel _something_."  
Vladimir raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "Something like what?"  
"Something like, I think he might be one of _us_. Something in between. Something of this world, but not fully."

* * *

 

  
Nathalie could not say she was pleased with the outcome of the night: first a case of possession in her house, and now, a ride in the cold, foggy night to deliver a letter.  
Vladimir had said that if there was a chance that one of them could be like him, and like her, they had to act immediately.  
The driver of the carriage had written down the address, to Vladimir's explicit request— Nathalie had never heard of this street before. Her sister was supposed to keep her company, but she was busy chatting with the driver instead.  
Whatever she was saying, Nathalie did not care. The streets of this part of the city were an inferno of lights and smoke, the lingering smell of tobacco, alcohol and opium filled the air. Red lights to the left, to the right, like flames enveloping the bodies of the young women on each side of the street.  
Shivers ran down Nathalie's spine, electric, cold.  
_Not so long ago, I was one of them._  
Well, in fairness, her life on the street didn't last long: she was one of the lucky ones, a beauty that quickly became a luxury good for private parties of all kinds.  
Until, at one of those parties, she had met Vladimir.

It wasn't too long until she noticed that she knew the street where they were turning, and the carriage stopped in a place that was almost too familiar.  
Nathalie's eyelids twitched, and she felt a rush of blood and pain at her forehead.  
"Sophie, what does this mean?"  
Her sister smiled at her, but there was guilt in her innocent blue eyes.  
"I'm so sorry, Nata, but I had to. We'll get to the place soon, but first—"  
" _No_." Nathalie bit her nail, her mood tasted like bile and spleen. "I'm not getting out of here."  
"Then I'll call him outside."  
"You wouldn't."  
Sophie's gaze hardened. "Yes, actually, yes _I would_. You cannot command me as you wish. I am your big sister. I raised you."  
"You raised him too," Nathalie scoffed, venom in her voice, "and yet, you let him command you as he wishes. After what he's done to me. To us! _Come back_!"  
It was too late, however, as Sophie had left the carriage, slamming the door on her way out.  
Nathalie called the driver. "Edward, leave. Leave _now_."  
"I'm sorry, mademoiselle Nathalie, I can't just leave your sister here—"  
" _You can if I say so!_ "  
He stared at her, wide-eyed, and she knew that she had raised her voice too much, but— but Sophie was back, leading the way for her brother to follow.

  
_Nathalie wanted to scream._

  
_Nathalie wanted to run._

  
Instead, she sat down, rigid and composed as a statue.  
"Don't come in."  
"I wasn't going to."  
Ivan's voice was sweet and quiet, soft-spoken as he had always been.  
"What do you want?"  
"Nata, Ivan just wanted to—"  
"I wanted to know if you were alright, that is all."  
"If you can call this _alright_. As you see fit, dear brother."  
The gaze she shot him could burn ice and freeze fire, and Sophie jumped in to defend her brother.  
"You don't have to be so rude, he was just—"  
"I've heard enough," Nathalie spat, "can we leave already?"  
" _Natasha_!" Sophie's voice was desperate, her cries like the ones of a wounded dog. "Can't you see that he just wants to talk! We are a family!"  
"We ceased being a family when he turned me into a living _corpse_."  
"That's right," Ivan said, "a _living_ corpse. If it weren't for me, you could have forgotten about the living part. We wouldn't be having this discussion. You wouldn't be sitting there, but laying down in a coffin."

  
He scratched at his nose, as he always did when he was nervous, adjusting his glasses even though he was not wearing them. The familiar sight filled Nathalie's heart with an unspeakable, tangible sadness.  
He knew what he had done. She knew why he had done it.  
And yet, after all that he had done, he was still the same big brother she had known and loved for all of her life. How ironic, that she would come to resent him so much in her death!  
"Maybe I'd rather be there than here."  
"Then I have nothing more to say. I'm sorry, Natasha, I really am."  
With those words, he turned away and left. Sophie stood in the middle of the street, staring intently at her feet, and the pattern of cobblestones below.  
Nathalie sighed, and looked at the letter in her hand.  
"Sofiya," she said, "we should hurry and deliver this stupid letter already. It's late. I'm getting cold."  
Yes, _cold_. The cold was unforgiving in the foggy nights of London.  
However, if Nathalie closed her eyes, she could almost feel the flames and warmth of the blood pulsing in her cheek, of her heart pounding with rage.  
In this inferno of lights, maybe, for once, she would be allowed to feel _hot_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long, I'm working on chapter six and it will be released asap!!! :D   
> Ivan finally made an appearance into the story- >:3 hopefully that will give a little more insight on Nata's backstory and her motivations!


	6. Chapter 6

When Felix had awakened that morning, he couldn’t understand whether the morning sickness he felt was caused by his bad disposition, the ailment of the night before, the events that followed, or a bad omen.

Perhaps all of them, he considered, scratching the unruly mop that his hair had become overnight.

Thankfully, his fever had somewhat subsided.

 

Like every morning, he kneeled in front of the cross, and recited his prayers.

_Once, for gratitude._

_Twice, for protection._

_Thrice, for good fortune._

His knees ached more than usual, and his hands were shaking.

He stood up from the floor, feeling as if he left a bed of nails and knives, and he sat down at the vanity in his room.

Like every morning, he methodically brushed his hair.

One. Two. Three. Four. He counted up to a hundred strokes of his brush. The repetitive motion calmed down the shaking of his hands, and by the end his hair was smooth, straight, bright as usual.

 

His hands might have stopped trembling, but the pain in his stomach would not ease.

Maybe some porridge would fix that, he thought. But he did not feel like eating, not that morning.

Out of habit, he opened the drawer where he kept the bandages to fix his chest— before he remembered that he only shared this space with Tolvydas, right now.

_It would not be necessary. It was nothing he had not already seen, anyway._

For the first time since they had met, he decided to join him in the studio wearing a robe, and his nightshirt.

He checked a clock in the corridor: he had slept until noon, and somehow had not noticed it.

 

Seated at the usual armchair Tolys waited for him, rustling through the same old pile of letters.

_We went over this so many times. We read through them over and over, we found them, I think. There’s no need anymore._

“Good morning, _Monsieur_. Found anything new in those letters?”

Tolvydas groaned, and tossed one back on the coffee table. “No. But maybe you’ll find something new in this letter, Sir.”

“What’s with the _Sir_?”

“I could ask you what’s with the _Monsieur_. You’re not even French.”

“You’re not even American, so you’re the one to speak with those ludicrous cowboy boots.”

Tolys looked at his own feet with dismay, and Felix grabbed the letter from the table with a sly smile. The envelope was still unopened.

The paper was of the expensive kind, the wax seal that closed it bore the symbol of a noble house he had never seen before.

_Peacock feathers. Where the hell does this letter come from?_

His questions were answered by the few words on the back.

_To the man who infiltrated our carnival, and left before it ended._

Felix gulped. “May I open this?”

Tolys nodded at him. “Yes. I mean, I’m assuming it’s for you. You were the one who grabbed all the attention, after all.”

He opened the letter carefully, almost as if he feared it would break, or the words would fall out of it.

The text was actually very short, and didn’t leave much of a doubt as to whom had sent it.

 

_We saw you yesterday night. You sat at the table with us._

_When our game of divination went wrong, you left in a rush._

_However, we felt something in you: we want to let you know that you are not alone in treading on the line between the two worlds. We want to know you, and what mysteries dwell inside you._

_If you feel like it is true, and want to meet others like you: come to the Kew Gardens alone, on Monday afternoon, at five o’clock._

_One of us will be waiting for you, wearing a red velvet scarf._

 

The letter was unsigned: there was no name, no clue of which person had tried to contact them.

Or, to be fair, of which person had tried to contact Felix alone if these words were to be trusted.

 

He sighed and passed the letter to Tolys, who quickly came to the same conclusion.

“Whoever this is, they want to meet you.”

“I could tell as much, thank you, my darling Yankee. I shall write this in my agenda for next week, I see.”

“I will come too.”

Tolvydas’ eyes were cold, and determined. His long eyelashes did nothing to soften his gaze.

“This says, come to the Kew Gardens _alone_ .”   
“It’s too dangerous. Something might happen to you.”

“It might, but if I die, you’ll be left to continue our investigation.”

“Don’t even _joke_ about that!”

His words were sharp and his voice loud. And Tolys must have noticed it, because he immediately tried to regain some composure. “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to die.”

Felix gave him a reassuring smile. “Why, why, do you think I do? If I really wanted to die, I would have been gone way before we met. I’m alive out of spite, and I fully intend to remain alive.”

Tolys looked down at the letter again.

“I can… I can watch you from afar.”

“I don’t think that would be wise. They know your likeness as much as they know mine.”

“Which means, not very much. I was wearing a mask. It is your mask that fell, if you recall.”

 

_No, I do not, actually._

Felix did not recall, and the few things he did remember were blurred and burned in his mind.

He remembered the woman’s voice, her chants and words and the smell of incense.

 

_He remembered the nightmare, the same nightmare that had plagued him since the start of his adolescence. The warm voice, calling him down a tunnel, a spiral, a hot pit of coal._

_He never saw the bottom of the pit. He never saw whose voice was calling him._

_He only knew that each time he woke up aching from head to toe, shaking like a leaf in autumn, his mouth dry from the screaming. His throat covered in scratches, and his– the eyes of the people around him, the way he had wanted to hide._

_To die, to rest forever, to put an end to it all. To join that warm voice, in the warm pits of Hell._

 

What he knew was that it had earned him a few years in a madhouse, and the scorn of his father and house.

If going against his birth and duties wasn’t enough of a reason already, his ailment– some called it _schizophrenia_ , some _epilepsy_ , more than once he heard the word _hysteria, a hopeless case of hysteria–_ was really what set a tombstone over his head in the eyes of his family before he had even reached the age of twenty.

 

Felix remembered every day, and he desperately didn’t want to remember. Not now. Not here. Not in front of _him_.

 

His father never wanted to speak of it: Tolvydas also seemed to want to avoid the topic, politely.

 

_And not just that. What happened afterwards…_

 

Felix rubbed his temple to soothe the tension building up in his head.

He really didn’t want to think about this, and he knew they could find ways for him to not catch anyone’s attention.

 

“I suppose you could come. But you better hide well, Monsieur.”

Tolys smiled at him. “I promise.”

“You better start by removing those boots, then.”

 

* * *

 

  


For the encounter, Felix had decided to not dress too fancy, to not catch the attention of people around him.

A simple shirt and coat would be fine, and freshly ironed grey pants. A newsboy hat would give his look a modest touch, he thought.

Before leaving his room he decided to powder his face just enough to look less tired; on his nightstand, he noticed his deck of tarots.

Strangely drawn to them all of a sudden, he decided to draw a card, just to see what would happen.

 

_The Magician._

 

A good omen, for sure.

With a smile on his face, half honest, half forced, he left his bedroom to meet Tolys and decide on the day’s plan.

  


The greenhouse of the Kew Gardens was packed full with people, mostly well-dressed ladies and academics with their glasses and monocles.

The overcrowding was easily explained by a nearby manifesto: that very Monday was, in fact, the start of an exhibition on tropical and exotic plants, wonders brought to England from every corner of the Empire.

A perfect day to go unnoticed, he thought: the more the people, the easiest it would be to blend into a crowd. The more chatter there is around you, the less people will pay attention to what you’re saying.

A smart move on his _admirer’s_ side, as much as it was for him a big relief.

_That way, Tolys will also go unnoticed._

 

Finding a person with a red velvet scarf was harder than he had anticipated: at the entrance, he could see a lot of red, a lot of velvet; maybe a red velvet hat, a detail on some fancy sleeves, but no trace of a scarf.

Felix entered the greenhouse, sure that this had all been a waste of time.

 

And there he saw him.

 

The scarf fell on his shoulder, reaching down to his knees.

A waterfall of rich, red velvet.

_The Magician._

An eccentric choice to be sure.

 

Felix approached him with a smile, and the stranger glared at him for a moment. He showed him the letter, and the man greeted him with a smile just as bright, and just as fake.

He offered his arm to take. Felix accepted, and together they walked into the pavillion.

  
  


The stranger’s name was Vladimir, as he promptly had told Felix in a most charming voice.

 

( _He lied, and said his name was Lawrence Talbot._

 _He didn’t know why it was the first name that came to his mind; when he tried to reckon, the blush that crept along his neck reminded him this was perhaps another question, for another moment._ )

 

His eyes were brown, with a peculiar streak of red, and Felix could not tell if it was just the color of the scarf reflecting its light. He seemed to be intrigued by almost all that Felix had to say, despite the superficial nature of their small talk: if not anything else, this man was a good actor, for sure.

“Mister Talbot,” he said, and inclined his head in an almost coquettish way, “I have a confession to make, before we proceed further.”

Felix tightened his grip. This could be just about anything, and he expected nothing good to come from his mouth. “What is the matter?”

“I will tell you, Sir, your face was something I did not expect. You were not the one the invite was meant for.”

“ _What_?”

“To tell the truth, it was meant for your intimate friend. Is he perchance here with you?”

“He is not.”

A lie, but a necessary one. He could not let Tolys handle this—his reflexes might have been quick, his wits much less so (or at least, he thought).

“Ah, a pity. But don’t worry, Mister Talbot, your presence does not disappoint. In fact, me and my Lady have wondered whether we should get a talk with you.”

They stopped in front of a small bush, with lush green leaves and bunches of golden flowers hanging down.

“Don’t you think it’s beautiful?”

Vladimir’s voice was mellifluous, flirty. Felix nodded.

“I’ve never seen it before.”

“I come here every year, to remind myself of all the beauty we know so little about. These flowers come from the Americas, but they’ve started cultivating them in the Australian colonies as well.”

“As ornaments?”

“Indeed. But also, as a drug.”

“A drug?” Felix touched one of the flowers, delicately. “For what purpose?”

“ _Angel’s trumpet_. A beautiful name, for a deadly plant such as this.”

“I see. I’m used to seeing more conventional poisons. Nightshade. Hemlock.”

“Ah, but those are out of fashion, aren’t they?” Vladimir took his red scarf, and put it on Felix’ shoulders. “Sometimes, something unusual is harder to detect.”

The scarf smelled like patchouli and amber.

“I think, my dear mister Talbot, that your golden locks and cunning green eyes hide something just as deadly. But we will have time to find out about it, won’t we?”

 

Vladimir placed a small paper in his hand, and leaned down to whisper something in his ears.

“With this, you can come whenever you need. You already know the address, but Friday parties tend to get… chaotic, let’s say. I need some time to talk in private.

Most importantly, I need my Lady to see you.”

When he was this close, a foreboding intuition hit Felix right in the stomach.

_No matter how many courtesies and kind words, there was something wicked about this man._

The scent of his perfume barely covered something else, a sickening hint of rust and smoke.

“For sure. Would an afternoon tea be a good time?”

Vladimir shrugged. “Any time.”

“You will see me again soon, then.”

“I’ll wait eagerly, my friend.”

With a kiss on each of Felix’ cheeks he left, and without his red scarf, he quickly disappeared into the crowd.

Felix smiled, tugging at the velvet on his own shoulder. Vladimir would soon learn that, if he wanted, he could be just as wicked.

 

* * *

  
  


On the outside, he found Tolvydas waiting for him, hiding poorly behind a Baobab tree. Dusk colored his hair with the shades of honey and copper. 

Felix' heart skipped a beat. 

“You have to thank God you’re so plain, _Monsieur_ , otherwise you would have been spotted immediately! Have you been here for a long time?”

“I’ve been waiting here since he left.”

“You could have come pick me up, you know? It would have been… _gentlemanly_.”

“It would have been stupid. If someone’s still following us, this whole conversation is stupid.”

Felix pouted. “There’s no one following us.”

“There was a child following you, until a few minutes ago.”

 _Well, that was unexpected._ For someone who took so much pride in his sixth sense, Felix’ senses seemed to be failing him lately. All of them.

 _It’s not me_ , he thought, _it’s all that’s happened lately, for sure_.

“Is he gone now?”

“Yes, I told you. You should be fine. So how was it? Anything about the girl?”

Felix’ cheeks flushed, and he tried to desperately cover it with the scarf. The pungent scent of perfume surrounded him once again. “I… I forgot to ask. Questions. But I have a ticket, and we can—”

“We can what, exactly?” Tolys interrupted him, and with a firm grip on his arm started pushing him towards the coach waiting for them. “My god, Felix. We came here to work, not to go on a gallant date.”

 

Suddenly, Felix snapped out of his grip and slapped him across the face.

 

“It was no _date_ , you cretin! Do you think I had _fun_?”

“It sure looked like it when Mister _Dracula_ over there kissed you.”

There was a shadow in Tolys’ eyes, the unrest of a storm. His cheek burned red and gold in the sunset, and Felix had had enough.

“I see, you’re acting all jealous, now? What are you, my _husband_ ? Better still, my father? I’ll have you know I am no lady or mistress, Monsieur, much less a _proper_ one. I do as I please.”

“I’m not— I’m,” Tolys stuttered, “that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry.”

“You better be.”

 

In silence, they both sat on the carriage. In silence, they rode until they arrived in the old apartment they shared, for better or worse.

  


After a few hours and a couple drinks, the tension between him and Tolys had seemed to melt away as quick as butter in the sunlight.

They talked some more about the ticket he had received, and what information he could gather.

 

“The mind of the two seems to be her. He said she needs to see me, to be sure of something.”

“Something like what?”

“I’m not quite sure.” Felix took another sip of wine. “By the way, I was not the one they were looking for. Apparently, the letter was meant for you.”

Tolys’ face went pale all of a sudden.

“Any idea why that might be?”

_We want to know you, and what mysteries dwell inside you._

“No.”

“No. Well.” Felix tried to drink some more, but he found his glass empty, with much dismay. “Either way, they seem to like you. For some reason. Maybe the lady of the mansion took a liking to you, Tolys. If you know what I mean.”

“Oh, _please_.”

Tolvydas leaned back into his armchair, raising his arms to stretch his back.

_Ah, with the way his shirt is untucked, I can see a little bit of his midriff— wait._

Felix chased the thoughts away. He looked at his glass.

He would need some more wine, soon…

“Anyway,” Tolvydas said with a yawn, “I’m tired, and I need some rest.”

“Okay. Before you go…”

 

_Before you go, can you stay a little longer?_

_Before you go, can you make this a little less lonely?_

_Before you go, can I kiss you goodnight?_

_Actually, please, do not go. Stay with me. Come with me..._

 

Felix’ thoughts got caught in his throat, piling up one after the other, until his mouth was shut. Absolutely full. Absolutely empty.

“...Yes?”

“Ah, yes. Before you go, is Wednesday a good day for the visit?”

Tolvydas thought about it for a moment. “Wednesday. Sounds fine. Good night, then.”

 

He watched his back as he got out of the room, his shadow disappear into the corridor.

 

Tonight, the nightmares would probably come back.

He was used to it. He would not mind.

He blew out the candle on the table, and bid the spirits goodnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (As usual, thank you for reading so far and I'm sorry it took me so long to update! Feedback is always appreciated!)


	7. Chapter 7

When Tolvydas awakened that morning at dawn, the dull thud and tension of a migraine was the first thing he felt. 

He washed his hands, as carefully as the dizziness and the one-handled cup allowed him to, and muttered his blessing under his breath— more out of habit than anything else, really, but something about it felt oddly comforting— the memories of his childhood, his grandparents, a sense of warmth that he had long left behind in the cold of the Russian Empire. 

He opened a drawer to reach the bottle of medicine that he always kept close, to take care of headaches: after he took a few drops, he noticed that it was almost empty.

He frowned.

If his memory wasn’t tricking him, he should have paid a visit to his doctor and friend very soon, anyway: the only way to know was to check his journal, if only he could remember where he had left it. When he finally found it under a crumpled and dirty shirt, he sighed in relief, seeing that his visit was scheduled on tuesday of the following week. 

And yet, he noticed something that troubled him. 

_ 13 Kislev _ … approximately fourteen days since the past new moon. 

Maybe, no,  _ certainly _ , he needed to visit his doctor sooner than expected.

 

* * *

 

 

The student quarters were muddy and cold, steam rising from the cobblestone street. At this hour of the day, just a few people were around, mostly those who didn’t sleep at night.

A small group of ladies of leisure in their last working hours, and a drunk young man collapsed on the ground, his nose red and his lips blue.

Tolvydas skipped past them quickly to knock at the door of a familiar apartment: three times, just as usual. He waited a few seconds for a response that did not come— just before he started knocking again, the door opened with a loud creaking sound, just enough for the person inside to take a look.

“Tolya, is it you? What are you doing here, so early in the morning?”

“It’s urgent. It’s been a month.”

Deep blue eyes stared at him behind a curtain of pale eyelashes. “A month since what?”

“I’ll explain, if you would just...”

With another creak, the young man allowed him to walk inside the apartment. He adjusted his messy blond curls in haste, tucking them behind his ears and on the nape of his neck, under the hem of his thick knit scarf. 

“Make sure you don’t make too much noise,” he whispered, “my roommate is sleeping.”

“Thank you, Ivan. I owe you my life.”

 

 

Ivan walked quickly from the front door to his bedroom, trying to not wake up his roommate, careful with each of his footsteps. Tolvydas followed him closely. He noticed that the room hadn’t gotten any more tidy ever since he had last been there. 

Books all over the floor, thick leather-bound volumes and short essays, illustrated tables showing the anatomy of the spleen one, and the bone structure of a leg right next to it. Over the desks, where the books should have been, the glassware and equipment that Ivan needed for distillation— or so he had told him. 

Once they got into his room, however, it was staggering to notice the emptiness of it. A small bed, a cabinet, and nothing else. 

Tolvydas sat on the bed and took off his jacket, as he always did; Ivan locked the door behind them, careful not to make too much noise with his key. 

“Tolya, what do you need from me today? You know I am always happy to see you, but… I guess it’s a bit early, at least for me.”

“I’ve come because I’m almost out of medicine for my headaches.”

“Is that all you needed? Couldn’t you wait till this evening?”

“It’s the evening I am concerned about. Tonight,” he paused, hesitating for a moment. “Tonight… it’s going to be a full moon. I think. If not tonight, the next.”

“Oh.  _ That _ .”

Ivan immediately turned his back towards him, to retrieve something in the cabinet. 

Tolvydas felt his headache coming back, stronger than it had been in the morning. He knew what was coming, and rolled up one sleeve of his shirt to get ready for it. 

He was not nervous about the injection, not anymore, but he still felt tense nonetheless— something about discussing things this openly with someone didn’t sit right with him, still. He didn’t know why he still felt so embarrassed about  _ that _ , and he didn’t know why he felt so embarrassed to speak his mind and talk honestly around Ivan in general.

Years and years of secrecy were a hard baggage to rid himself of, even with someone who already knew everything his condition, and how to treat it to the best of their knowledge. 

Lost in his thoughts, he had not noticed the syringe in Ivan’s hands until it had already pierced through his skin. It stung, but the pain was something he was used to: a necessary evil, he supposed. 

“This should be enough to last until this night. If you feel palpitations— if you feel any symptoms, really, I’ll just give you another one to take with you. A bigger dose will make you sleep, Tolya, but it’s better safe than sorry. You can do it yourself, right?”

“Mhm. I think I can.” Tolys watched a drop of blood fall from the spot where the needle was, slowly rolling down to his elbow. 

Ivan caught it and wiped it away with a gauze. The cool trace left by the alcohol on his skin was a relief, and Tolvydas finally relaxed his back and rolled back down his sleeve. 

He noticed that Ivan was looking at him a little too closely. A little too sweetly, too, but he tried to chase the thought away from his mind.

“You remember your other injection should be scheduled next week, right?”

“I do.”

“Have you noticed any changes yet?”

“I have, in fact.” Tolvydas’ face flushed, and he had never wanted to disappear as badly as he did right now. “I think… my voice, for one. But I’m not quite sure. Maybe it’s just an impression.”

When he looked down, he noticed that his own hands were shaking— when he looked up, Ivan’s face met him with a smile.

“I think there’s been some improvement, too. At least in my research. I haven’t been able to isolate hormones perfectly, not quite yet, but I think what we have right now comes pretty close...” 

He took a small notebook from his pocket and wrote something, humming and whispering things to himself as he did.  “And, one last thing before you go, Tolya?”

“Yes? Is there something wrong?”

“No, just, well,” Ivan stuttered as he struggled to unlock the door, as if his hands were suddenly made of butter. “You know, you can come visit me even if you don’t need something. I’m always, uh, always happy to see you.”

Tolvydas did his best to cast away his anxieties and smile. “I am busy with a job at the moment, but I’ll come see you next week.”

“For the injection, though…”

“For the injection, yes.”

A shadow of loneliness in Ivan’s eyes betrayed his feelings, in spite of his cheerful smile.

“See you in a few days, then.”

It was almost endearing, Tolvydas thought, how Ivan’s personality and disposition contrasted with his physique and intellect: how the big man who towered over him as he passed by seemed so flustered and childish in his demeanor. One of the most brilliant medical students in training, with the hands of a surgeon that always trembled whenever he went from aspiring doctor to— simply, a man.  

Tolvydas bid him a good day, and promised him he would visit soon. A promise he hoped he could keep, and it all depended on how the night would unfold. 

 

* * *

  
  


When he arrived back at the apartment, Felix had obviously just awakened. He could tell from the way he dragged himself sluggishly through the living room, a cup of coffee in his hand; he gave a poor attempt at smiling and looking awake as soon as he saw him. 

“G'Morning, _Monsieur Talbot_. I couldn’t find you today, and I thought that hell had swallowed you.”

“I needed a walk to clear my mind.” 

He took off his coat and placed it on the coat hanger nearby. When he turned, Felix had somehow gotten closer to him— a little bit too close, maybe. 

He stared and squinted at him, almost as if he were looking for the hint of a lie, a doubt, anything, and Tolvydas couldn’t help but notice the dark bags under his eyes. He probably barely slept tonight. 

“I might need a walk too,” he said, walking back a few steps, “to clear my mind. I’ve had too many unpleasant thoughts, lately.”

“Don’t you have your cards, though?”

“Well, well. If you think those would work to untangle our own doubts, I could have a special reading just for you.” Felix’ smile was confident, even with his tired gaze.

“Thank you, but I’ll pass. Those might work for you, but they just confuse me more than I am confused already.”

“Confusion is, sometimes, a good thing. At least, I think so.” He took a deck of cards from the pocket of his robe, different from the one Tolvydas had seen before ( _and_ _just how many of those does he keep on him_ , Tolvydas asked himself, but knew that he’d probably never know the answer), and shuffled them quickly. “Pick one, Tolys. Just one, it’s enough.”

With a sigh, he did as he was asked. 

 

_ The moon. _

 

Tolvydas could feel the blood drain from his face. 

_ You’re fooling me. This can’t be possible. _

 

In the sides of the card, sitting under two opposite towers and separated by a river’s stream, a dog and a wolf were howling. 

 

Felix looked at him— the sudden spark of interest in his green eyes seemed like a bad omen.

 

“So, the moon. It’s not as confusing as you think, Tolys. The moon is illusion and uncertainty, that is for sure… there is something you’re doubting, emotions that you’re holding back. Memories that are haunting you, perhaps.”

“The moon is just the moon, and this makes no sense.”

“Say what you will, but I can sense it, you know. You’re worried about something.”

“You’re just guessing. It has nothing to do with the cards.”

“Perhaps,” he shrugged, “doesn’t mean I’m any less right, and you know it.”

Tolvydas refused to respond. 

 

Maybe it was the sedative he had taken, maybe it was a momentary whim of his heart, but for whatever reason, Felix’ hand had caught his attention. 

He found himself staring at the way he held the cards; at his fingers, so slender, and at ivory-white knuckles— his wrist poking under the robe, and the slight bump that connected it to his arm. It seemed so elegant, if bones and flesh could even be called that. The trail of veins that disappeared into the purple satin of his sleeve held the promise of more: more skin to see, more blue paths to find. 

 

“Tolys, why are you staring? Do you want to draw another one?”

Felix’ voice snapped him back into reality. 

“ _ Huh _ ?”

“Hello? Tolys, are you daydreaming? Maybe instead of walking around the city at dawn, you could have used more sleep this morning.”

“Maybe you’re right,” he said as he struggled to hold back a yawn, “but it’s late for it now, don’t you think?”

“If you need to rest, I’ll wait. We have a long night ahead, remember.”

“Oh, trust me.” Tolys sighed, “I couldn’t forget, not even if I tried.”

* * *

 

 

He decided to follow Felix’ advice and get some rest before the sun would, tragically, unavoidably set. Tolvydas was getting undressed when he heard Felix knock; he struggled to grab the first shirt he could find and button it up, when Felix decided that opening the door without his permission would have been a great idea. 

“Oh. I’m sorry,” was all he said when he noticed Tolvydas’ lack of pants. “Do you have a minute to talk?” 

He didn’t seem to be bothered by that in the slightest. In fact, his gaze seemed to travel from Tolvydas’ bare legs, to his still half-unbuttoned (and poorly half-buttoned) shirt: drawn to  _ him _ , no matter how much he tried to hide it by looking down, and then left, right, to the floor and empty walls of the room. 

And Tolvydas would have lied to himself if he were to deny that Felix’ eyes and looks intrigued him. He invited him into his room, invited him to sit on his bed.

“So, you need to talk? What is it?”

Felix looked unsure. “I don’t mean to bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me. No worries.”

His eyes were suddenly on his body again: intently staring at his hands. Felix’ cheeks were flushed and pink, framed by his straight golden hair.

Something about the sight of him made Tolvydas’ blood stir.

“You know that if you’re worried about something… anything, you can talk about it with me, right? I will keep your secrets, Tolys, as you keep mine.”   
“You need to worry less.”

“You say so: and yet, I can’t chase away the feeling that you have something important weighing on your mind. It’s in your eyes.”

“I’m just tired, that is all.”

“So am I,” Felix said, and stood up. “I understand. If you change your mind, you will know where to find me. I mean, in the living room.”

“I know that.”

Tolvydas observed him as he walked to the door. 

Something lingered in the back of his throat; a whim, again, a visceral need to pull Felix closer to him. And then…

And then talk, maybe; to hear his voice, and maybe, just maybe, to reach out and feel the smooth skin of his neck, the soft touch of his hair, and maybe— maybe none of those things, but Felix’ name managed to crawl out of his lips all the same, and Felix turned, and his green eyes were on him; colored with questions and expectations, and a mystery unsolved.

“Yes?” 

It was all he said. He waited for an answer, and Tolvydas gave him a smile.

“Thank you. Your words… it means a lot.”

Felix smiled right back. “No need to thank me. I hope you rest well.”

With that he disappeared behind the door, but his scent lingered inside the room. It lingered on the pillow as Tolvydas tried to fall asleep.

 

His dreams were more like feverish hallucinations, pictures painted by his mind and the sedative he’d taken in a twisted haze: a starry sky, bright and clear, illuminated two twin towers in the middle of the sea. 

On top of each, a dog and a wolf respectively: howling at the sky, but with no moon to be seen.

The stars soon disappeared too, and all was darkness, and water, and suddenly, blood— Tolvydas could not see it, but the smell was too familiar to be mistaken.

Iron shackles constrained his wrists, and the cold and rough metal hurt him. The thing that hurt the most, however, was as usual his jaw: his gums bled, his teeth kept growing and growing endlessly, until they all fell off. He felt empty and sore. 

He wanted to reach for help, but whenever he tried to scream, he could only hear a muffled growl— and the burning ache of his throat, raw and— 

  
  


And then, nothingness. He woke up, and found that he could not move. 

 

Night time would come too soon, it was always too soon. If there was something that Tolvydas knew, it was this. His unchanging, eternal truth, until the end of his days.

He awakened from his nightmares, and bid his demons good morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the late update! I tried my best- to show another side of Ivan we did not see (ohoho,,, the plot thickens...) and to get to know more about Tolys and his mysteries at last...!  
> A couple things:  
> \- the biggest THANK YOU and credits to my friend Anna for educating me about the Hebrew Calendar and netilat yadayim. Thank you for your super precious help, your patience and your willingness to help me with giving Tolys little habits and traits that are a part of his jewish heritage in this fic. ;u; <3  
> \- so the ante-litteram HRT was not supposed to be necessarily realistic (testosterone was first isolated in 1935), but apparently back around the turn of the century, some historical trans men did take similar rudimentary HRT. The more you know!
> 
> And as usual, thank you to everyone who takes a minute to leave a kudo or a comment on this fic. Your support means so much, you can't even imagine <3 thank you thank you and thank you again, and see you at the next update!


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